


Before We Sleep

by Saber_Wing



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Blood and Injury, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Platonic Relationships, Romance, Stabbing, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Superhusbands (Marvel), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: “Might have to...s-skip the debriefing, Cap.”“Oh, no, I'm not letting you off that easily,” Steve quipped, bile rising in his throat. He reached for his com again, helpless to disguise the tremble punctuating every word. “Where are my medics, Fury? I need an ETA, pronto!”“Three minutes out, Cap. Pushing as hard as they can.”Steve nearly groaned aloud. Three minutes. Such a long time.Such a very, very long time.There was a spear jutting out of Tony's side, and Steve couldn't breathe.





	Before We Sleep

There was a spear jutting out of Tony's side, and Steve couldn't breathe.

The weapon had managed to pierce Iron Man's armor – _how_ had it pierced the armor, Oh God – and Steve surged across the battlefield, lips parted in a silent scream.

Tony managed to blast away the man who'd hit him with a repulsor, tearing the weapon from his wound, but the damage was done. He swayed, gazing sluggishly down at the gaping hole in his armor. He raised the face plate, reaching up to touch the wound with a shaking, gauntlet-clad hand.

Steve dove as Tony's legs buckled, managing to catch him before he hit the ground. He slapped at his com with a trembling hand.

“Captain America to tri-carrier: I need immediate med-evac! Lock onto my coordinates and get out here. Iron Man is down. Repeat, Iron Man is down!” His voice came out harsher than he'd meant it to, teetering on the edge of calm.

A beat. Two. Then his com crackled to life. A voice replied. Fury.

“ _Copy, Cap. En-route to your location.”_

“Acknowledged. Friday, get this armor off him: override alpha, beta, omicron six-two-three-eight-five.”

The armor released Tony, pieces scattering on the ground around them, and Steve couldn't rip them off fast enough. He tore the chest-piece away and thrust his hands over the wound, pressing down with as much force as he dared.

Tony hissed, writhing beneath his grip.

“Shh, I know. I'm sorry.” Steve kept one hand clamped over the wound, reaching up with his other to cup Tony's cheek. “Eyes on me, soldier. Focus right here.”

“D-don't...tell me what to do,” Tony murmured. The words were flippant, though his face was drawn with pain. He winced, shifting under Steve's hand again. “ _Fuck_ me, that hurts...”

Steve ground his teeth. For his lover to admit such a thing out loud....

Damn it, where the _hell_ were those medics?

“Just keep fighting, Tony. Stay with me, okay?” Blood gushed between Steve's fingers, and he clamped his hand over that terrible wound even harder.

Tony struggled to do as Steve asked, though he could see how much it pained him. Could trace every deep, sharp, exhausted line, carved into his flesh.

“Might have to...s-skip the debriefing, Cap.”

“ _Oh,_ no, I'm not letting you off that easily,” Steve quipped, bile rising in his throat. He reached for his com again, helpless to disguise the tremble punctuating every word. “Where are my medics, Fury? I need an ETA, pronto!”

“ _Three minutes out, Cap. Pushing as hard as they can.”_

Steve nearly groaned aloud. Three minutes. Such a long time.

Such a very, _very_ long time.

Steve squared his shoulders, flashing Tony a smile: brittle, cracked around the edges. “Three minutes, Tony. I need you to stay awake and talk to me for three minutes. Can you do that?”

Tony groaned, eyes welling up with tears. Clearly, the thought was daunting, though he could see him trying. Trying so hard, it was all Steve could do not to shatter on the spot. “Okay. Okay.” A whimper escaped his lips, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I'm tired, Steve. I'm _so_ tired. I-I don't know if I can.”

Tears stung the backs of Steve's eyes, but he didn't have time for them. Not now. Not for a moment, when the love of his life was bleeding out on the ground, and he was the only thing keeping him alive. “You've never let me down before, Stark. Don't start now. Get it done! Two and a half minutes. Failure is not an option; do you understand me? You're almost there. Why don't you finish telling me about those new schematics you were drawing up? The ones for Nat's stingers?”

“I r-redesigned...them. More...versatility. She can...c-control the strength of the beam. Kill...or stun. But…it's not finished.” Tony sobbed, desperation twisting his features. “…not finished …yet.”

“Don't worry about that right now. You can finish them later.” Steve brushed the sweaty hair off his forehead. “You're so good to us, Tony. The Avengers wouldn't exist without you.”

“Might...h-have to.” Tony smiled tremulously, and Steve felt his entire chest seize. “Flattery's not...r-really gonna…cut it this t-time.”

A chunk of ice settled deep within the pit of his stomach.

The North Atlantic hadn't been this cold.

_You'll be okay,_ he wanted to say. _I'll get you out of this,_ _I promise._

But Steve couldn't promise that. He couldn't gaze into the eyes of a man he loved more than life and feed him empty platitudes.

“Don't you dare.” The scraps of control he'd been clinging to for Tony’s sake all but evaporated. Steve's breath quickened; voice shrill with panic. “You're not done yet, soldier. You hear me? You've still got another minute. This mission isn't over until I _say_ it's over!”

“N-not a... soldier. And I n-never...follow orders.” Tony raised a shaking hand, barely strong enough to lift it up off the ground, but Steve knew what he wanted. He picked up that hand, raised it to his cheek, and held it there, like a lifeline.

Steve kissed his bloody fingers. Leaned into his lover's touch. And this time, he didn't even try to hold back the tears.

“…love you.” Tony's voice was whisper soft. The fire in his eyes, all but smothered.

A sob escaped before Steve could bite it back. “Don't do this.”

Tony didn't reply. His eyes rolled back. His face fell slack. And of _course,_ he was falling, Steve thought, with an edge of hysteria.

They always fell, and he always failed them.

“Don't _leave me!”_ The words came out on the edge of a scream, guttural and piercing. And Tony startled awake, eyes lingering on Steve for one horrible, beautiful moment, before sliding shut again.

For good, this time.

The sound of tri-carriers and speeder bikes flying overhead was so beautiful, Steve could have wept. “They're here. You made it.”

His lover, of course, didn't reply. Instead, a series of wet, violent coughs wracked his frame, his back arching up off the ground. Blood exploded from his lips, hard and fast, and Steve was forced to turn him on his side, so he wouldn't choke.

Agents and medics spilled from the tri-carrier, leaping from the ramp before it even hit the ground. Someone tugged on his shoulder urgently.

“Captain, we need to look at him. _Now.”_

It physically hurt to let go of him, but Steve did, allowing one of the medics to take over holding pressure on the wound. He scooted back, numb, and they buzzed around him, flying into action.

“Is he hurt anywhere else?” one of the medics asked.

Steve replied, entirely on autopilot. “I don't think so. He was struck with a spear. Pretty sure it hit his spleen. He-” His voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for composure. “His blood type is A positive. It's not in his file. 'Need to know' basis, he says.”

Nobody had the time to spare a kind word for Steve, scrambling to save Tony's life as they were. He tried to stay out of their way, rising on shaking legs and rubbing a hand over his face. He could feel the blood smeared over his cheeks – could taste it, like copper on his tongue. Smell it in the air, like iron.

He had to hold back a mad, hysterical giggle.

Stark men were _made_ of iron, after all.

The other Avengers were arriving on scene, taking it in with varying expressions of anguish, and he turned to them, scrambling for instructions. With Tony down, Steve was solely in command. He had to lead them. Oh, God. He had to pull it together. It didn't matter that his lungs were straining for air, that his composure was unraveling at the seams. His team still needed him.

“...need to secure the scene,” Steve heard himself say, a million miles away. “We managed to subdue them without killing them, but they'll need medical attention.”

Sam was openly crying, face crumpling as he watched the medics work on Tony. “Cap...”

“Hawkeye, grab some agents and set up a perimeter, forty meters outward on either side.”

Natasha placed a hand on Steve's shoulder. “Cap...”

“Forensics will want to preserve every scrap of evidence they can. Have S.H.I.E.L.D...”

“Steve!” Natasha grabbed him by both shoulders, shook him a bit. There was steel in her eyes. “I've got this.”

“I...” Steve faltered, gaze drawn back over his shoulder where the medics were working diligently, having stabilized Tony enough to load him up onto a stretcher. He bit his lip, allowing his face to crumple. “Are you sure?”

“Go.” Natasha's face was soft for just a moment before she turned back to the others.

Later, Steve wouldn't be able to recall the journey to the med bay in any sort of detail that made sense, not even if pressed. He could only assume he'd turned and walked into the tri-carrier, but damned if he could remember it. The next time he had any sort of awareness to speak of, he was sitting in a chair with a Styrofoam cup of terrible coffee, blood still caked under his fingernails.

Eventually, his team trickled in one by one, looking nearly as bad as he felt. They fell in varying states of disarray onto the chairs and couches in the lobby, and they weren't the only ones waiting for news. Maria Hill hovered close by. Nick Fury poked his head in at one point. Were things so bad, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself was keeping tabs?

“...Cap!”

Someone was speaking. Steve blinked, shook himself a bit. He turned toward the voice. Sam. “I'm sorry. I didn't catch that.” His own voice sounded distant to him. Disconnected, in a way Steve thought should have alarmed him.

It didn't.

“You should go get cleaned up. The nurses said you could use the shower down the hall.”

Steve stared down at himself, then back up at the others. He could see they were in their battle gear, and though they all looked ragged and worn, none of _them_ were covered in blood. He made himself stand on stiff legs, took the items from Sam's outstretched hand. A spare t-shirt. A…pair of Tony's old sweatpants.

Steve could see medical personnel side-eyeing him warily from the nurse's station, and he didn't know what could have happened to make them stare like that, gazes filled with something akin to pity.

Steve had a vague recollection; one of standing catatonic in the middle of the room. Of a nurse, who came and sat him down. Grabbed him a cup of terrible coffee.

He should have been embarrassed.

He wasn't.

He went through the motions, allowed himself to be led down the hall. Scrubbed at Tony's blood under the spray until his skin was red and raw, and he was crying, because they'd only just showered this morning. Now here Steve was doing it again, only this time, Tony wasn't with him.

No. Tony was either in an O.R., or a morgue, and Steve didn't know which, because no doctors had come, and the nurses wouldn't tell them anything.

The tears fled as quickly as they'd come, and he dressed mechanically. Went back out to the waiting room with red eyes and an expression carved straight from the ice they'd pulled him out of. Natasha settled in beside him, leaning up against his arm.

He had no concept of time as it passed. Seconds, minutes, hours, days. They meant nothing to him. Everything, and nothing.

Eventually, the doctors who had told them nothing came and told them something. They told them Tony had died twice on the table. That they'd had to remove his spleen. And he was in critical condition, but he was alive.

They weren't sure if he'd stay that way, but right now he was still alive.

The Avengers took up residence in the S.H.I.E.L.D. tri-carrier. Fury and the trauma surgeons decided it would be best to keep Tony there, in their intensive care unit. A regular hospital would have imposed more restrictions, even if he _had_ been strong enough to transport. And nobody wanted to be the man to tell a bunch of pissed off Avengers and Captain America, they couldn't be with their family. This way, no one had to.

It was fortunate, really.

Steve would have regretted hurting them.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. An eternity passed as they all lived in limbo. Watching, waiting, hoping, before those big brown eyes finally blinked open. But open they did.

And when they did, the tears came.

Tony lived, and Steve remembered what it was to breathe.

Tony's eyes were clouded, his face, gray. The ventilator had been gone for days, though Steve could still see evidence of the adhesive they'd used to hold the tube in place. He was connected to monitors, hooked to IV drips. His lips were dry and cracked with blood.

By God, he was beautiful. The most glorious sight Steve ever knew.

“Standing vigil over little old me?” his wonderful, beautiful man quipped, voice thready. Weak. Teasing, as if he weren't laid up in a hospital bed, inches from death.

It seemed to take everything he had to stay awake. To look at Steve, lift a shaking hand, and smile. “Come 'ere.”

Steve's face crumpled. His vision blurred, and suddenly, he wasn't just crying. He was _sobbing._ Falling to his knees beside the bed and wrapping his arms around Tony's waist. He knelt there, resting his head in Tony's lap. And it was a damn good thing the universe didn't know that at this moment in time, nothing could ever have torn Steve away.

Aliens could attack. The Red Skull could conquer the world. The sun could rise, and fall. Explode into a million pieces. And Steve would still be here, breathing him in. Watching the world burn, just to stay.

Steve thought he tried to speak, choke out a word. Something. _Anything._ Whatever escaped was unintelligible. Wounded. Inhuman in its grief.

“Shh...” Tony murmured, hand landing heavily in Steve's hair. As if the strength had left him midair, and he'd had to drop his arm wherever it was. “I'm here.”

A sob tore from Steve's lips.

“I'm here.” Tony carded his fingers through his hair. Fingers that trembled so lightly, Steve could feel the vibrations through his scalp. “I'm sorry...”

And Steve wanted to tell him _so_ many things. He wanted to tell him he was an idiot. That he was the bravest, strongest, _dumbest_ man he ever knew. He wanted to keep him wrapped in his arms forever – keep him safer than his Iron Man suits ever could. Most of all, he wanted to ignore that this was one of many disasters. That both he and Tony would surely knock on death's door again.

“I love you so much,” Steve heard himself murmur – tearful, broken, but intelligible this time. And still, Tony whispered to him in that thready, fading voice.

He whispered, and Steve loved him.

“I know. We'll get through this.” Tony's fingers moved in his hair again. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Steve released a watery chuckle. “All the time.”

“Okay, that's fair. I'll rephrase. Have I steered you wrong _today?”_

Steve tilted his head in Tony's lap, pressing a kiss to his forearm. “No.”

“Exactly.” A pause. Steve could barely hear him now. “Babe? I'm tired. I'm gonna close my eyes. But...just for a little while. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve murmured as he sat up on the mattress, settling Tony back against his chest. He kissed the top of his head, and his lover sagged against him, boneless. “It's okay. You can let go."

“I'll come right back. It's like the poem. How's that poem go?” Tony's words were slurring now. “' _...miles to go before I sleep?'”_

“Wow.” Steve laughter was punctuated with tears. “You _do_ know what books are.”

“It's Robert Frost, Steve. I'm not that uncultured.” There was a smile in Tony's voice as he closed his eyes. Temporarily, this time. And something dark and wounded awakened within Steve as he watched him. He tightened his arm around his waist.

The yawning chasm widening within should have been frightening, but instead, Steve felt strangely empty. And he knew without question he'd sell every fragment of his soul if it gained Tony just one mile more.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem referenced here is "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost. Not entirely sure how that happened, but now it's the theme, sooooo. Yay?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, as always! I essentially only exist to write whump at this point. Also, special thanks to my good friend Bebedora, for always editing my pieces, and putting up with me! You're awesome!


End file.
